Aere Perennius
by Galimatias
Summary: there are some things stronger in creation than what can be found in intention (some romantic, some platonic, all moments shared)
1. the tired and the trying

**moments in sleep**

 **platonic**

* * *

 **1\. Night Cap.**

"You're drunk, Carrots."

"Psh… no I am _naht_."

"Yes. You are. C'mon. It's bed time."

"But I wanna _partay_!"

"We're not doing that. Drink this coffee."

" _You_ drink this coffee."

"I would, but you need it _so_ much more than I do."

She palms his face. Or tries to. Her hand sort of lands on his chin. "You're _stupid_."

He pats her hand. "Thank you, Judes."

"Your face is stupid."

"Have you seen _yours_ right now?"

She makes a noise that's half between a laugh and half between a burp. And then she throws up on his feet.

And then, after that, she passes out.

All in all Nick learned, as he's taking his third shower of the evening and still somehow smelling like carrot vodka, Judy was never to take part in a drinking contest against Del Gato ever again.

Unless, of course, he remembered a camera.

* * *

 **2\. Forced Sleep.**

He throws a pistachio at her, and it bounces off her ear.

"Judy. Go to sleep."

"No."

" _Carrots_."

" _No."_

"I'll throw another pistachio at you."

"And I won't be cleaning them up."

He does. Throw another pistachio at her. And then he eats the next one.

She glares at him before ducking down into her book. It's a mystery novel (figures) and when she wasn't raving about it to him in the squad car that day, she had her nose buried in it, eyes scanning the pages at a speed that had him hugging the wall for support.

The next pistachio bounces off her other ear. It twitches.

"If you don't go to bed now," Nick says with purpose (and doesn't he sound just so _dignified_ when he says things with purpose) "then tomorrow you'll sleep in and I'll have to bang on your door in the morning and get you up because you decided to not listen to me and be a nerd."

"Reading isn't nerdy, Nick. And go away."

He throws another pistachio.

It takes the entire bag (half thrown, half eaten) to finally get her off the couch and to bed. She promises not to read in her room ("I can see the light, Judy. Don't try to trick me.") and he promises to vacuum the next day ("It's about time too. You shed" - "I do _not_!")

And the next morning she's banging on his door to get up. And all is right in the world.

* * *

 **3\. Deep Sleep**

It's been ages since she's actually slept, and Nick isn't the only one to notice.

"Hey there, Hopps!" Fangmire dangles a bag of her favorite donuts (carrot, cream cheese, artificial orange sprinkles that burn her mouth and leave a foul, chemical taste on her tongue) in front of her face. She looks up from the case file, blinking at the bag dotted in grease, dusted in powdered sugar. "Looks like you could use a pick me up!"

Her smile is slow and a little syrupy, but it's there, and she gently reaches through the air and takes the bag. The grease mats her fur. "Thanks Fang…"

"You've been here for a while!" The bag rustles in tune with the desk chair behind her as the Wolf takes a seat, leaning his front against the backrest, watching her. "Wilde went home hours ago, you know."

"No… I know…"

"He know you're here?"

"He doesn't watch my every move, Fang."

He flinches through his grin, and she almost feels bad. "No. I know. Just wondering."

"No." She'd told him five minutes. But Nick had known it was a lie. She knew he knew. "He's home. Our- _his_ … shift ended. He needed a break."

"So do you."

"I'm fine. I'm a Rabbit. We're built for long nights, you know?"

"Is that a fact or is that something an asshat rookie told you?" She flushes, and he's got her pinned. She doesn't respond, though. Digging her hand through the bag, breaking half a donut from its body.

"Thanks for the donuts, Fang…" she says, nibbling on the edge before turning away, flicking to the next page. "I gotta work now. See you tomorrow."

The team takes care of one another. And really, she should be flattered if she wasn't so damn tired and so completely wasted of energy. But when Nick strolls in with a purpose, fur mussed and eyes still misted, she doesn't even stop him from tugging her off the chair and silently leading her back to his car.

"Fang tipped you off… didn't he…" she mumbles.

"The team takes care of you, Carrots. Because you're inept at doing that yourself."

"… dumb Fox…"

"No. _Caring_ Fox. You're dumb tonight, Darlin'. Come on, we're going back to my place. I'm not dragging you all the way upstairs. You can sleep in one of my old shirts or something."

He means to put her on the couch, but by the end of the night she's crawling into bed with him, and he's too tired to say otherwise.

* * *

 **4\. Cat Nap**

"You know," Nick's mother tells her as Nick snoozes at her side, "he hasn't slept like that in _ages_." They're on the balcony of Mrs. Wilde's little fifth floor apartment. It's a small, dingy thing and Nick told Judy that he's tried more than once to get his mother to move, but the Wilde stubbornness ran through the family. _It's where she raised me. She's apparently not gonna leave for anything less than the moon_.

But it was a nice place. Covered in photos of him before his smile had straightened and his eyes had gone dark.

The sun is setting over the buildings, reflecting off the smog. His mother sits in a tiny chair by a potted plant, knitting a scarf. They're happily situated on a couch facing the setting sun. Or… they had been. Until Nick, leaning against Judy, had slowly slipped away, eyes winking heavy before they'd closed altogether.

"Really?"

"Mmhm. In fact, I couldn't tell you the last time I _saw_ him sleep. We're nocturnal, you know. But he's always preferred strong coffee to time." She's sad for a moment, and her needles still, glinting in the evolving stars. "He used to say that he couldn't trust anyone. And… sleep wasn't good for him like that. Can't chance it…" A tilt of her head, a glint of her green eyes. "Does he sleep around you?"

"He naps. He's a light sleeper. But, you know.. whenever there's a documentary on or I talk too much about work…"

Sometimes all it took was a puddle of sunshine on her carpet to tempt him into a stupor.

"He's been getting better!" Judy adds quickly. "In case you're worried."

"No… not worried… Just curious." His mother hums again before looking down. "I should get you more tea," she says. "Would you like more? I have chamomile."

"I can make it."

"No… no you stay there. Nicky doesn't look like he's gonna want you to move."

Judy chuckles and scratches behind his ear. He lets out a long, deep sigh, and the gust ruffles her fur. "Chamomile sounds lovely, Mrs. Wilde… And… if you have anymore of those almond cookies?"

Mrs. Wilde smiles, and Judy can't help but feel like it's for another reason altogether. "I think I can manage."

* * *

 **5\. Crying to Sleep**

She finds him sitting up in bed, wiping away evidence fast enough for her to notice it.

"Nick…?"

"Carrots!" He tries for a smile. Tries to work through the kinks in his voice. But by that time, it's clear that nothing will work and he falls back on what he knows. "You came all the way here to check on little old me? That's sweet."

"I heard you crying."

"Those ears are gonna end you one day!"

"We're roommates, Nick. You live a few feet away."

He swallows, and she watches his smile falter in the dim light of the hallway bulb she'd flickered hastily on. His fur is all mussed and matted and rumpled and the spaces around his eyes are sheen.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He does. Even if he doesn't say. And she turns off the light before moving to his bed, crawling beneath the covers. he's got at least a foot and a stone on her, but she does her best to cover all of him when she winds her arms about his lithe frame, and it doesn't take him much longer to hug her back.

He tells her, then, about dreams. About shock collars and Rabbits without mercy. About fear. _Her_ fear. About blood and about control.

He tells her about things he's afraid of, and he does it all while watching the shadows grow.

And at the end; "You're not afraid of me… right?"

Because something tells him that she should be. There were moments in museums where teeth fell to neck and blue burst into a shower of unsurity and he'd seen the way her eyes had fallen into a pupil and she'd had to keep herself still as her neck was bared and then found.

She doesn't answer for a moment, and his chest tightens. "Right?" he asks again, and everything is slipping into dreams.

But then she turns her head just enough to press her little nose against his jaw, and buries herself there until his pulse sings tales into her blood. "Nick?"

"… Yeah…"

"Dream me sounds like an ass." Another nuzzle. "Next time you see her, tell her to meet me when I go to sleep. She needs to hear how much you matter from a reliable source."

He doesn't tell her that it's enough. But by the time he's crying again and she's pressing little sure kisses to his neck, he's sure she already knows.

* * *

 **6\. Crying Awake**

Some nights, she has nightmares.

About Manchas. About new rooms that smell like anesthetic and are made to look sharp and clean. About blue and blue and blue and blue-

But most nights (all nights), she has them about him.

Not the him with the sly smile and the quick eyes-

 _Nick._

The him of museums and forgetful promises-

 _Fox_.

A while ago they'd scraped together six months of their earnings and bought a nice little place near the precinct. A two bed, half bath sort of deal with bigger windows and closet space for all his ties and a shower that, compared to the communal one she'd had at her old apartment, was practically plucked from a spa- glass door and adjustable water settings and all.

But the walls between their rooms were thin. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn't help but listen.

The lock on her door didn't work. And even if it did, she wouldn't have used it. So on those nights it was easy to duck through the darkness and pad his way to her bed.

She tosses. And turns. And winds herself up in the sheets until they're dragging her down. Some days it doesn't last long. Others they last hours.

Sometimes, when it's especially bad, she wakes without seeing. Dream and reality blended together and countered into something he can't help her surface from.

On those nights he holds her.

Her eyes open, and she's there. Speaking a language that sets his teeth on edge and revs instinct forward with a hiss and a growl. Squeaking and keening and twisting in his grasp. She's Prey. That's all she is then. And all he is (Predator Predator Predator) is less than Nick.

Fox.

Rabbit.

She kicks. She screams. She sobs. She pleads.

The blows never hurt half as much as the begging does, and he tucks his face against the top of her head, breathing her in as she warbles.

(no)

(please)

(I-I'm not _ready_ )

(please)

(nononono)

But he holds her tight against his chest through the thrashing and the crying. Holding her tight enough that she can't escape. Trying to remember the lessons from sixth grade biology telling him that this wasn't her. This was her brain shooting off neurons or stems or whatever the hell else they'd written down in white standard issue chalk on the blackboard.

Tries to also remember what his grandfather (a Fox his mother had avoided when she could) had told him about catching fresh cuts of meat. ("Remember, they _fight_. Ya gotta hold 'em just so. Keeps 'em from gettin' away an' from hurtin' you or themselves. Ya want 'm fresh, boy. Always fresh.")

He holds her until she can't move. Until she so badly exhausts herself that she's left panting in his arms, her voice - _no no… please… no….. please….._ \- horse and soft and low.

He holds her until she remembers.

"Nick…?" And she does. Looking up at him through a haze. His head tucks back against hers and he nods. Can't talk. Not yet. Can't find the words. " _Nick_ …"

Instead he nips at her ear, leaving little marks like paws against thin, old snow.

She apologizes. Enough times to turn the world she apologizes.

And he'll forgive her (in the morning). At that moment though, he just needs to hold her and not know who the comfort is for.

"I'm sorry…" Her breath is warm, and it heats the patch of fur at his chest. "Nick… I'm so sorry…"

"… Carrots."

"That wasn't you, Nick. It- it _wasn't_." She tucks herself against him. He smells like sleep and she smells like sweat and together they mingle into something that shouldn't be, but has to be all the same. She sighs. "And… and if it was… _you_ I mean… I'd love him anyway."

"He hurt you."

(I hurt you.)

"He didn't mean it." She shrugs. Wipes away new tears. "It's just… how it's meant to be."

They sit together for another moment. Always another.

And then;

"Nick?"

"Hmm."

"I love you," she says. Because it's true.

"I know," he says. Because he does.

"No… I mean… I love _you_."

There will be more dream Nick's, he's sure. And all of them will have his name, and none of them will stop. And she's right. It's meant to be, really. The whole thing was designed by a cruel but precise force of nature that watches them and hopes one day they'll twist and be dragged down apart.

But…

 _But_ …

"I love _you_ , too."

Some nights (all nights) he envelops her completely in his arms, tail wrapping around them both. And sometimes (all times) he has to remember that even if dreams are intended, there are still things worth fighting for.

"Still not afraid of you," she says against his collar with enough honesty to make him want to cry-

(he might cry)

(he tries not to cry)

(he does cry)

\- and falls asleep with trust on the tip of her tongue.

Judy still has nightmares.

But she also still has Nick.

And that's enough.

* * *

 **7\. Sleep Together**

"You don't need a King Sized Bed," she tells him as the delivery mammals (a hippo and a lion) haul the thing through their door and into his room. "I got a _twin_."

"Why on earth would you want a twin when you could have a king."

"Because there's _one_ of me, Nick. And that one isn't very much." She gestures to all of her, and he has to agree. There really isn't much of her.

There isn't much of him, either, but that's neither here nor there.

He licks the pawpsicle he's holding, watching as the two larger mammals struggle to fit the frame through the small entrance way. "Look. We all have our reasons, Carrots. You have yours-"

"Mine make sense!"

"-and I have _mine._ " He hands her the red stained stick, tapping it into her waiting fist. She glares at it. "You'll see, Fluff."

"All I see is a vain Fox whose compensating."

He gives her ear a tug. "You'll see."

She does see. Sooner than she'd have liked to

(only 27 days later)

when she's padding through their apartment at 2 in the morning after a rather vicious dream (stay with me Nick… come on… breathe… you're gonna be alright, Nick… _don't leave, okay? promise me you won't leave_ ). He sleeps in the middle, spread out and snoring. But there's enough (too much) room left for her, and it's easy to snuggle down beside him, tucking her face into his side.

"… told ya so…" he mutters to her after a moment, and she can feel his smug grin against the crown of her head.

"Shut up, Nick. Go to sleep."

And they do.

* * *

 **All my works are edited by myself and no one else. Suggestions are welcome, but not _promised_. **

**Find me at my tumblr**


	2. the platonic and the protected

**friendship**

 **platonic**

* * *

 **1\. Seeing Double**

Judy and Nick are always together. And if Judy is mentioned then so is Nick. And everyone ( _everyone_ ) knows that one does not mess with one unless they want to mess with the other.

"What did you do?" Del Gato asks an intern, who walks into the coffee room looking shaken up and a little well worn, his pride hanging somewhere at the end of the tail currently tucked between his legs.

"Um… I- uh… said something about the Fox."

"Ah," says Del Gato.

No more questions are asked.

* * *

 **2\. Double Date**

She's stood up. Her first date in the city, and Judy is _stood up_.

She sits at her table, playing with a bread stick and seeing how many small puffs it takes the blow out the candle (the number is 26).

"Excuse me, ma'am?" her waitress, a Koala with dayglo orange lipstick, approaches with meaning.

"Just a few more minutes?"

Apparently her pleading purples are enough to buy her a few more, and she slouches back into her seat. Her phone buzzes.

 **[Nick: How's the date going]**

She rolls her eyes fondly, hoping it does its part to mask the way that they're beginning to burn up and tear. She's upset (lie). She wants to tell him she's fine (lie). She wants to say that this was just a hiccup (lie lie lie).

Instead

 **[Judy: I was stood up.]**

Then, after a moment.

 **[Judy: Buy pizza. I'm coming over. Need to vent. Giving him another five min.]**

But it's five minutes later when there's a flash of red at the restaurant door, and he's standing there, still in the midst of tying the top knot of his tie. Half his shirt is tucked out, and he shoves it in while the hostess raises her brow.

"Sorry I'm late," he tells her. He's brought flowers. Daisies. She wants to cry all over again, but for a whole new reason.

"You didn't have to do this…" she says, taking the flowers when he offers them, and he reaches over, kissing her on the cheek.

"Course I did, Carrots! If your best friend can't take the place of guys that suck, then it's like I have no role at all."

Her date does arrive thirty minutes later carrying roses and wearing a polo. But by then, he finds, his place is already (had been for longer than that) taken.

* * *

 **3\. Double Trouble**

"What's the meaning of this?"

The Chief looks them both down. Judy carrying the same look as a school kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Nick folds his arms over his chest.

"It… it was an accident, sir…" she tells him, wringing her paws together. "Just… you know… a harmless thing."

"Hopps. You think that _destroying police evidence_ is a _harmless thing_." She goes quiet. Shifts low. He rubs at his face. "To be fair, it isn't as if I _don't_ know what happened. Wilde here _broke_ the _extremely fragile and well protected_ vase covered in _paw prints_ and you were strung along until the two of you were caught. Sound familiar."

It should have.

It was just about how every disaster happened.

With Judy standing over the mess, trying to fix it, while the (her) Fox stood back and watched with a cool smile and an easy grin.

But neither talks. She sits back, and follows his lead, tucking her arms about herself.

They end up being sentenced to a months worth of traffic duty and the odd ticketing job. Which Judy could have avoided if she'd just admitted what had happened.

But apparently, Bogo notes as he watches the two of them don their vests for their fourth day, Nick holding her tight to his side, tail curing around her legs, the two of them would be separated when the world split in half.

And then they'd jump down the chasm together.

* * *

 **4\. Double Edged Sword**

There are moments where she has to wonder if fear is the correct reaction. Moment like when she sits below the stream of the shower until the hot water runs freezing and the sun falls below the city line and her apartment falls into complete darkness. Moments where she hears her front door open and close (she hadn't locked it, had she… she'd forgotten… she'd forgotten everything…). Moments where she sits alone in the dark and the eyes suddenly appear.

She sees them in the moonlight that ushers through the slats of her bathroom window. The shower is still on. The water is cold, and she shivers beneath the stream, clutching at her arms. She's wearing nothing but her white undershirt that stretches just below her hips. The water stopped running red hours ago. The shirt is still stained.

"I killed someone."

The eyes blink. She watches them. The cold water runs down her ears. "I… I saved Fangmire… but… but I…" She sobs, a little hiccup of a noise. "I _killed_ someone."

The eyes wink.

She wonders if she should be scared when she hears the door click closed through the pitch. Trapping her inside with the cold and the red. The eyes advance.

"I'm sorry…" she tells them. Not at all sure why. But needing to say it.

The water turns off when he reaches up and twists the knob. Something warm is wrapped around her, and then he's there. The eyes are close, and she can just see his outline if she squints. But when the blur of mercifully warm tears start, even his eyes become hard to see.

"I… I… I'm _sorry_ …"

The eyes close. He breathes. Tugs her near. Kisses her temple. "Don't be…" he whispers, and his fangs brush her skin. "Don't _ever_ be."

* * *

 **5\. Double Digits**

"You know I love you, right?" He says it after she's feeling homesick. After she's gone through two containers of cookie dough ice cream and half a jar of maraschino cherries and she's lying back, spent of all tears and feeling, all together, rather bad for herself.

He'd found her like that. Halfway through her second container and glaring at an empty tissue box. So he'd gotten her a roll of paper towels and a bottle of chocolate sauce, and after snagging another spoon from a drawer in her kitchen, he helps her finish the rest.

"I know, Nick." Because she does. How could she not. He gets her coffee every Tuesday morning and tells her which email advertisements and charities are scams and lets her choose the movies once a week.

But he just shakes his head. Leans in close. "Nope. You don't know enough. Just how much, I mean."

"I _do_ , Nick."

"So you know I'd do anything for you?" He takes the empty ice cream container off her lap and takes her hands. "You know I'd do that, right? That… that I'd literally do anything. For you. Because you're honestly the best friend in the world to me."

"And you're _mine_."

"I'm your only friend, Fluff."

"Rude and untrue."

He touches his nose to hers. "Just… know that. Because your families not here. And I know I'm a lousy substitute. But I'm a willing substitute. For as long as you want. Preferably forever. But… you know… until tomorrow."

"I can have tomorrow?"

"You can have _all_ the tomorrows," he promises her in a voice that's void of all Nick's usual _Better-Than-Thou_ sarcasm, and her smile softens like melted cookie dough.

She hugs him back, and outside the sun is still beating itself a steady drum against the tar. He's golden in the haze of it reflected through dirty windows she needs to wash. "I know, Nick…" she tells him. Honestly. Truthfully. "I know. And I do. Too."

"Even if I steal the last of your cherries?" he asks, eying the jar.

"Even then."

He gives her the last one. Just to show he cares.

* * *

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